


full of broken thoughts

by puchuupoet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Character Study, Cynicism, Freeform, Gen, Getting a Feel For Him, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Introspection, Memory Loss, Memory Related, Not Beta Read, Sort of depressing, my bad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 01:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18906757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: There is an irony in not being able to remember if you had memory problems before the trauma has taken place. Bucky can’t remember if he’s using the word correctly, or if he’s like that one singer that Banner seems to be fond of.





	full of broken thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Hurt" by NIN (Johnny Cash version)

He can’t remember certain things. There are flashes of childhood, but it’s like looking in through a window, a bystander to the comfort that memories seem to hold for others. There’s a sense of floating, he had realized, in the not knowing. The future had been laid out for him, for as long as he could remember and that’s the thought that gets him to huff out a noise, an almost-laugh. He’s still working on remembering how to authentically laugh. People tell him he used to do that a lot, but he doesn’t know if they’re trustworthy, and even if they are, how he could verify those memories. 

If he can’t remember his past, and there’s no one to tell him his future, is he even who he is at all? Steve hates it when he goes down this path, usually cuts him off with an “aww, Buck, let’s not get too philosophical here” and he’ll stop, more to end the fatigued look on Steve’s face then his own curiosity being burned out. 

But then he’ll go to his room, pull up the next book on his to-read list and start questioning his existence all over again. He had tried reading in the main room, around the others, but he kept getting distracted. Which, granted, was both new and familiar to him. _People watching_ , his brain whispers and he wants to tell it _But we’re not people anymore_. But even without memories, he still has manners and keeps his mouth shut. 

There were animated conversations and noises from the kitchen and Barton and Sam playing video games, Mario Kart, he hears them say, and he finds he can’t look away. They are just as animated as the pixels themselves, bright and vibrating, cursing out Rainbow Road and Bucky can’t help but think to smile, and that scares him almost as much as any slip of memory he does have of his own past, the recent past, the escaped one.

Bucky assumes Barton wins, because he’s stretching up and flexing, a smug look on his face. He’s close to going back to his book, finishing up the chapter and counting that as a step forward in his future ( _because what the fuck else is there to count right now_ ) when Barton twists around, absentmindedly scratching at the middle of his back. There’s a flex and curl to the muscles, slight red raised marks from his short nails dragging and Bucky remembers marks like those once, for better or worse, in sickness and health, down the chain of command. He can’t remember if it’s a good memory or a bad one though.

He knows when he’s in his bedroom, but not how he got there, or the exit he performed. There’s no knocking at his door, no concerned Steve tentatively reaching out, afraid of what Bucky’ll say this time. So it must have been a socially acceptable ducking out.

His heart is racing, he is damp with perspiration, but but his mind is as clear as any other day. So he counts it as another step forward in his future. Both arms are warm, the technology still astounding to him, but only one sweats, the other too mangled to ghost anything out. 

Bucky closes his eyes, leans back, and remembers what just happened, attempting to cement something for future him. Steve should be proud of all this planning he’s doing for himself, but the thought falls flat, too heavy with cynicism even for his own sense of self. 

He thinks of Barton, of _Clint_ , and that graceful contortion that was so casual yet so practiced. Bucky tries it himself, attempting to scratch at his arm in Clint’s absent minded manner, but despite the warmth, despite the smoothness, the advanced tech, something catches, on his arm, in his head, and he cannot anymore. There is nothing casual about him anymore, and while he cannot remember the before, he knows it hurts the ones that can.

There is an irony in not being able to remember if you had memory problems before the trauma has taken place. Bucky can’t remember if he’s using the word correctly, or if he’s like that one singer that Banner seems to be fond of.

He tries to settle in, to relax back into the book, but the words are a blur now, the concepts suddenly out of reach, and there’s a panicked flash that maybe he doesn’t remember how to think like that anymore, that he’s devolving along with his memories. That he exists in the flashes of everyone else and when those darken, he is in stasis, waiting to be remembered once more.


End file.
